


Echo Base: Redux

by stitchy



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bottom Finn, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Romance, Top Poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/pseuds/stitchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Finn/Poe fic inspired by 'Empire Strikes Back'- particularly, the classic Han/Leia miscommunication~<br/>"Come on, you want me to stay because of the way you feel about me!"<br/>"Yes, you're a great help to us, you're a natural leader!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echo Base: Redux

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that this fic owes a thanks to the existance of ["A Valentine Story"](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/A_Valentine_Story)  
> which was a 2003 Han/Leia UST Huddled-For-Warmth-Trope Star Wars Legends comic. If Dark Horse could do it, why can't I ? 
> 
> Also, as a person with a spinal injury, I'd like to state that Finn could absolutely have a fulfilling life despite a handicap, but in this instance there is something medical science can do to help him recover. And it's sparkly, because if *I* had the choice- I'd want an upgrade ;)
> 
> Beta'ed by StarMaple, my partner in crime!  
> PSA: Betas are great! If you don't have one when you write, solicit one on your blog! If you don't write/aren't too busy writing at the moment, offer to beta for others! It makes a good community and great fic :)

_It would be better if Finn hadn’t woken up._

That’s what Poe thinks, anyway, while he’s dodging the flailing arms of a medroid so that he can get close enough to lay one comforting, _human_ hand on him.

As relieved as Poe had been when Finn opened his eyes and croaked out for water after two months of silence- he wishes Finn had slept through this past month as well. Poe would trade back the joy he felt at Finn’s first alert, sunbright smile in a heartbeat for Finn to have woken up when he was already whole.

The agony that Finn had suffered while the medical staff rebuilt his paralyzed back made Poe feel guilty for ever being so delighted his friend came out of his coma. When he thinks of how he had stood by Finn’s bedside after Starkiller and wished to the Force, and the Stars, and Skies and _anything else_ that Finn would just open his eyes again... it makes him sick. No one should have to hurt this way, and especially not someone to whom he feels so connected. Poe does his best to bear it with humor and gentleness, though- aware that however much it strains Poe to watch it is nothing compared to what Finn goes through. As the swelling from Finn’s surgeries came down enough to start switching on his implants, Poe did everything he could to be there whenever he was scheduled for another round of synaptic activation. Poe had traded patrols, snuck away from his own mandated bed rest between flights, and bribed medroids with upgrades to be there for Finn. He needed something or someone to help soothe him, since his First Order enhanced metabolism persisted on overcoming the sedatives meant to keep him comfortable. As painful as the process is, Poe is certain it must be a costly one too. At one point, he had tried to volunteer his accrued wages from his past career with the New Republic toward the cost, but the General had waved him off.

Tears streak across Finn’s face as the medroid fires up the synapses connecting the base of his new spine to control of his legs. There’s a bounce of color on the gurney from the indicator lights on the biomech pathways already embedded in Finn’s flesh- usually purple, but currently an angry red that warns of systematic overload. Battling back the pain, Finn does his best to clench his scream behind his teeth- after all, this is the fifth and final stage of activation for his new nervous system.

“You’re an old pro now, Finn. Hang in there,” Poe says, fighting to keep the edge out of his voice, even though his hand is nearly crushed by Finn’s squeezing him back. “You can do this.”

Finn seizes with a final jolt, the last switch having been flipped. With a wail, he rolls his body onto his side and his knees follow, coordinating themselves in a display of the activation’s success. Now both of Finn’s hands clutch Poe’s tight, pulling his whole arm into his chest while he lets loose a sob and starts to shudder with a good hard cry. Poe folds over him protectively, rubbing his untethered hand up and down Finn’s sweaty back in soothing circles while MD-03 rattles off statistical observations.

Poe glares at the droid, hackles raised. “You wanna give him a while before you go prodding at him again, Emdee?”

While MD-03 had been a thorough health care provider ever since Doctor Kalonia had left to recruit and train new personnel on Corellia, it definitely lacked a bedside manner subroutine. The medroid keeps the rest of its thoughts to itself and hurries away to the computer to input a report there, instead.

Slowly, the spots of light that glow underneath his skin in groups of three up Finn’s arms, the back of his neck, base of his spine, and all up the back of his legs turn from red to purple again. Finn coughs to clear the last of his sobs. He breathes in trembles, a little sniff here and there, but mostly he just keeps his grip on Poe and lets him stroke his new back. Poe isn’t sure who it consoles more, honestly, because the feeling of alarm finally starts to wash out of him, too. He only pauses long enough to pull up a chair for himself, then tucks his chin into Finn’s clammy shoulder and stays with him until Finn passes out a half hour later, exhausted by the ordeal.

When he’s sure Finn is asleep Poe untangles himself. As he unwraps his arms from his friend, he hesitates, noticing their faces are so close. It stirs him with an instinct that he has squashed many times before out of respect for Finn being in such pain, but in light of that being behind them, it seems a pity to pretend he doesn’t feel the pull at all. Poe splits the difference and drops a light kiss on Finn’s cheek.

“It’ll better from here on out, buddy,” he promises in a whisper. With a sigh, Poe pulls away to get something to eat and try and to sleep before he needs to be in the air again.

-

Before taking off on patrol a few hours later, Poe collects BB-8 to go and see if Finn is up yet. He’ll probably have a big day, now that he can move around on his own, Poe figures. There will be no reason for him to stay cooped up in the medbay, anymore. Finn can stake a claim on some corner of the base and find a job if he wants, some belongings, and maybe even a new hobby- if he’s feeling particularly ambitious.

It seems Poe isn’t the only one with the idea to pay Finn a visit before Blue Squadron’s shift, because there’s already laughter drifting out of his room when Poe rounds the corner into the medical wing. BB-8 rushes ahead of him with an inquisitive warble, hooting in excitement when she ducks in the doorway. Poe looks in, but it takes a moment for him to believe his eyes.

“I guess I won’t have to ‘lift with my knees’ anymore,” Finn laughs, out of bed and dressed for the day- and hefting Snap Wexley in both arms like an exercise weight. It seems his new biomechanical implants have lent him an inordinate amount of core strength

Jess stands by, smothering her giggles with both hands. “Me next, me next!” she begs, when Finn sets Snap down again. Finn crouches to grab her around the legs with one arm, lifting her up twice as tall. “Now we can take down the vines up here if we want,” Jess says, tapping Finn’s shoulder to direct him toward one of the overgrown walls. BB-8 chases them across the room, beeping in laughter and pleading for a turn.

 Poe's heart swells, pleased to see Finn happy and whole for the first time in ages. Somehow, he refrains from throwing himself into Finn’s arms once he puts Jess down- but Finn hurries over to wrap him in a hug anyway.

“G'morning!” Poe gasps, the wind knocked out of him by Finn’s forceful grip around his middle. He drapes his arms around Finn’s shoulders and Finn lifts him effortlessly, turning them on the spot a few times. Poe’s professional resolve melts a bit, and he would consider blowing off his shift to stay like this all day if only Snap and Jess weren’t watching. He buries his nose next to Finn’s neck and lets himself take a deep breath full of him, damn the audience. It may be whole standard-minutes he’s swept up by it, but still- all too soon Finn lets him go and Poe’s feet are on the ground again in more ways than one. “Looking good,” Poe says, pulling back and admiring Finn.

“For someone who’s half droid now,” Finn jokes, lifting his forearm to point out the trio of lights implanted there, glowing a happy purple.

Poe bites his lip. “I always thought BB-8 was gorgeous, though. I’m biased.”

Finn puffs up in pride while BB-8 trills behind him appreciatively, making Snap snort and roll his eyes.

“Well, good luck finding a bunkmate after this, Finn-pio,” he says, beckoning Jess and starting out of room. “None of the hotshots on _this base_ will admit to sleeping with a nightlight.” Snap winks at Poe before Jess drags him out of the door.

“S’enough out of you, meddler,” she hisses out in the hallway.

It takes Poe a minute to find his tongue again after that. Skipping straight to asking Finn to move in with him seems a little hasty... Right? Now that Finn is well enough to leave the medbay, he has a vague plan to ask him for a date, like a _normal_ sentient being does when they find someone agreeable. As opposed to how Poe steals a TIE fighter and abducts an enemy soldier when he finds someone agreeable, apparently.  He shoots BB-8 a searching look, but she is neither telepathic or helpful, and simply tilts her domed head in confusion.

“Bet you’re eager to get out of here, right?” Poe gestures indistinctly at the walls.

Finn’s eyes go wide. “Unless... I should maybe stay?” He looks so stunned for a moment, it reminds Poe of when they first met the _Finalizer_. Leaving the medbay will be his next great escape, apparently. At least he won’t have to shoot his way out this time.

“Nah, You can look after yourself now. I mean,” Poe laughs. “ _Look at you_.” He eyes up Finn’s strong frame, edged in the hint of that purple neon glow that makes it all the more impressive even with a shirt on.

“I guess I could...” Finn trails off uncertainly.

Poe wants so badly to to bolster his confidence so that Finn feels as amazing and capable as Poe knows he is- so he whips out his Inspiring Commander Voice. “You can do anything! That was the whole idea- get better and get moving again right? You’ve got places to go, things to see!”

“That’s what you want?” Finn looks Poe in the eye, his expression blank and still unacclimated to the concept of having his whole life ahead of him, apparently.

“I want great things for you,” Poe says with a smile, “- so yeah, you gotta get out of here.”

Finn gulps. “I guess I have to make some arrangements.”

Poe considers for a moment. “Me too, actually.” He’d really like to have a nice treat to surprise Finn with once he’s been released by MD-03. After his patrol he should be able to work something out. BB-8 chimes in to remind Poe that they are running late, so he claps a hand to Finn’s shoulder. “Listen, I gotta get to my shift. But I bet Maz can hook you up with any odds and ends you need.”

“Maz Kanata is here?”

Nodding, Poe thumbs over his shoulder in the general direction of the motorpool. “Yeah, she hauled a bunch of her loot over here after the FO bashed her castle, and now she’s running auxiliary transport.”

Finn stands stiffly, but looks like he’s at least absorbing the information. “Ok. Uhm. Good bye, Poe?”

“Bye Finn!” Poe waves, jogging backwards out of the medbay and grinning like a maniac.

He turns around and half runs to the hangar, his mind racing for the perfect way to sweep Finn off his feet, now that he’s finally back on them. A grand gesture! Something to show Finn how extraordinary he is to him. Then maybe he can tell him all the wild hearted hopes he has kept so closely guarded...Tell him how anytime Finn smiles it puts Poe’s pulse in overdrive like it had when they first met and no matter how fast he goes, hurtling through space hasn’t felt quite the same ever since.

Poe stops short when he gets to Black One, suddenly remembering a TIE fighter scout that wrecked a few kilometers from the base the last time he went on patrol. They had had to gut its equipment so the emergency beacon couldn’t transmit to the First Order, and it was the reason that General Organa was eager to get the base shifted to a new location in the next few weeks... but it _also_ might be the perfect setting for a first (second?) date with Finn. Poe sees to it that BB-8 gets in position and then clambers into the cockpit, activating comms to the rest of the squadron.

“Black Leader, standing by.”

“You two lovebirds make a date?” Snap asks, instantly.

“That’s why we left you alone,” Jess points out.

Poe groans. “Not yet but I have a strategy!”

“You always do.”

When he gets back to base he’ll show up at Finn’s door with a bottle of some Core World wine- maybe with BB-8 tagging along to play some atmospheric music... No, scratch that. BB-8 will fluster Poe with her commentary.

-

Patrol lasts a third longer than it’s supposed to. Any sensible person would slam their door in Poe’s face if he showed up this rank, so he stumbles in and out of the ‘fresher in a daydreaming haze. While he showers, he practices what to say and thinks of another detail to add to his planned TIE fighter loveshack. Freshly scrubbed, Poe picks out a shirt and jacket he thinks makes him look more put together than his frayed nerves feel, and BB-8 hums her approval. After spending entirely too long trying to get his hair _just so_ , Poe figures he’s better off showing up a little disheveled than not at all, so he turns to his pantry to grab what he needs. While he digs through the cupboard for his most romantic bottle of wine, it finally dawns on Poe that he has no clue where Finn ended up being housed. It doesn’t seem like he has any holoflames on hand with which to set the mood anyway, so he may as well swing by the quartermaster’s for a box and see what the story is.

BB-8 trails along behind him asking questions.

“Well I guess ever since- always?”

She coos sweetly, charmed by that answer, and makes another query.

Poe smiles at BB-8 fondly. “I’ll let you know how it goes, but let’s not count our dewbacks before they hatch, all right?”

At the commissary, Prax the quartermaster is able to supply him with a box of holoflames but is perplexed by the question of Finn’s whereabouts.

“Who?”

“Finn!” Poe exclaims, exasperated. Maybe not everyone has met him since he was cooped up in the medbay in a coma for a while, but seriously. Finn was a _hero_ instrumental in the plan to disarm and destroy a whole planet made of doom- Poe could be excused for assuming word had gotten around. He gestures. “He’s about yea high. Human, dark, handsome? He would have been needing a room assignment today after getting released from medical.”

“I haven’t seen him. Did you tell him to check in with me?”

“I-” Poe stops. He had completely skipped over that bit, hadn’t he? And MD-03 wasn’t likely to have offered any information it wasn’t explicitly asked for- brilliant conversationalist that it was. Ruining whatever order he had managed to coax his hair into earlier, Poe clamps his hand to his head in humility. “I did not. Thank you, I- I gotta go.”

Making his way to the other end of the complex with BB-8 shrieking at his heels is not quite the spectacle Poe had intended to make of himself this evening. On the other hand, all this commotion might get Finn’s attention if he’s still aimlessly wandering the base's corridors with all three of his belongings.

Poe pokes his head around every corner he passes on his way, but sadly, Finn does not materialize on his way to the motorpool. Slumping down on a crate close to where Maz is directing a few groundcrew, Poe drops his box and bottle, at a loss. Maz whirls around before he or BB-8 even makes a peep.

“What did you screw up this time, Dameron?” she asks sternly. Leaning in to get a better look, Maz refocuses her lenses and examines him.

Poe steadies himself. “I seem to have misplaced Finn.”

“I’ll say,” Maz remarks. “He asked how he could get transport offworld, so I told him the orbital market was pulling out this afternoon. Strong, working-age man like him could get a lift anywhere on the Rim from there.”

 The information doesn’t register with Poe at first. What would Finn need from offworld? BB-8 beeps urgently, putting it together before he does.

“Finn _left_!?”

Poe’s stomach plummets. They’d been getting along wonderfully, and Finn was an asset to the Resistance. Surely someone must have pointed out how welcome he was, and how eager they would all be to keep him.

Hadn’t _he_?

Suddenly breathless, Poe wracks his brain trying to remember ever specifically inviting Finn to stay and comes up empty handed. If anything he’d nearly shoved Finn out of the medbay without even checking he had a place to sleep tonight. ‘ _You can look after yourself now_ ,’ he had said.

He is an idiot.

“Finn seemed to think you _wanted_ him to go,” Maz says, tiptoeing to stay at Poe’s seated eye level. “But you were hoping he’d stay forever, weren’t you?”

“Where else would he even go?” Poe groans, covering his face with his hands. He can’t bear another moment of Maz’s scrutiny. Finn knew so few people; just the folks at the Resistance, the crew of the _Falcon_ , Rey- “Rey!”

BB-8 shrills in recognition, always approving of Rey’s input in a time of crisis. If Finn would have confided in anyone before taking off- or been headed towards anyone in the galaxy, it would be Rey, right? Even if Poe has upset Finn terribly and he’ll never see him again- she’s a wonderful, merciful Jedi. She’d tell him if Finn was safely accounted for or not.

“Maz, I really screwed up.”

“I already said that,” she hums, folding her tiny arms and fiddling with the necklace strung around her neck.

“See if you can dig me up an M-wing two-seater or something like that, would you?” Poe asks, bolting out of his seat. “I’ll watch your tookah for a _standard-month_.”

     “ _BB-8_ will watch my tookah, you mean,” Maz sighs.

“Please?” Poe wrings his hands. He’s got to go get in touch with Rey, and he doesn’t want to waste another moment if gets a lead on Finn’s whereabouts. The orbital market left hours ago, and ships of every variety of hyperspeed capability could have come and gone with him aboard, by now. Poe has to follow as soon as he can if he ever wants to see Finn again.

“All right, okay! I hate to see a grown human cry. I’ll dig something up, you go see if Rey knows where your boyfriend’s got to.” Maz’s already wrinkled forehead furrows even more deeply when Poe bends down to kiss it in thanks.

“But he’s not actually my-”

Maz waves him off. “ _That’s_ the part you screwed up, like I said.”

Poe flat out runs to the officer-access commsuite, praying it will be empty. He skids to a stop outside the door and slams his hand on the ident reader, opening the door on a very surprised Nien Nunb, who was just about to exit. Nien squawks and jumps out of the way.

“Sorry, sorry. My uhm- I gotta...” Poe grimaces apologetically.

With a mutter about ‘ _kids these days_ ’ Nien leaves him to it. Poe collapses into the chair at the commsuite counter and BB-8 rolls up to input R2-D2’s last known transponder coordinates on Ahch-To, in the hopes Rey is close by to receive them.

The transmission static grates at what’s left of Poe’s nerves- which is ridiculous. He’s a daring, highly decorated starfighter pilot. Accidentally hurting the feelings of the guy he likes shouldn’t get to scare him _out of his wits_. Poe’s head drops into his arms on the counter and he whispers to himself over and over not to be so stupid.

“BB-8?” says Rey’s voice. Poe picks up his head. “Oh, Poe? What’s going on? You look awful.” A blue, shoulders-up image of Rey fills the counter, frowning at him.

“I don’t know where Finn’s gone,” Poe says miserably. “You haven’t heard from him have you?”

Rey shakes her head. “Not since the last time you wheeled him into a commsuite to say hello,” she says. “Where would he go?”

“Offworld...somewhere.”

“But _you’re_ onworld. And he’s crazy about you,” Rey squints in confusion. “You know that right?”

    “Yeah? But I think I managed to give Finn the idea I wanted him to leave?” Poe frowns guiltily.

Rey just stares upward and heaves a weary sigh, like this- this _right here_ is the reason that the Jedi code shuns romantic attachments. Whatever the intention, BB-8 chatters in agreement with the accomplished sentiment.

“I don’t know how you did that when you’re incapable of forming a sentence about him without going starry eyed. But if I hear from him, I will tell him to stay put,” Rey promises. “Now, you _must_ go after him.”

“No mind tricky Jedi mumbo jumbo needed here. Agreed.” Rey smiles when Poe places his hand over his heart in oath. “Thank you.”

They end the transmission and Poe motions for BB-8 to follow him back to the motorpool.

-

The transport Maz has arranged is adequate, in the dictionary sense of the word. The _Squire_ is an A-24 scout ship with no offensive capability, suitable for two passengers and a droid, with a modest cargo space and characteristics that won’t put any passers-by on alert. It’s no X-wing, but as Black One is a single passenger craft, it’s not very useful for a retrieval mission, and as said retrieval mission is not exactly sanctioned _..._ Poe needs a stripped ship with no affiliations to the Resistance. To buy a little time before the General comes down on him, Poe gets the captain of the Yellow Squadron to cover for him tomorrow in exchange for rights to his docking space. With everything at home as squared away as it’s going to be, Poe makes his inspection of the A-24’s antiquated systems and then checks with Maz on the destination of the orbital market after its stop near D’Qar.

“Word is the Rik-3R Air Market is headed for the Corellian Trade Spine,” Maz reports with an apologetic smile.

“Fantastic, that narrows it down to two thirds of the galaxy,” says Poe, rummaging through files in the _Squire’s_ astrogation buffer for something useful.

“The Bespin system is up and coming with the young people these days. I bet the Rik isn’t even past Lorta.” Maz strokes her chin thoughtfully.

Poe raises an eyebrow. “How do you know what’s hot on _Bespin_?”

     “I’m seventeen hundred years old. It’s not that difficult to spot a trend once you’ve seen it resurface thirty times,” says Maz. Poe can’t argue with that logic, so he pulls up calculations for the Bespin Swing. “May the Force be with you, Poe Dameron.”

 That catches Poe, a bit. It’s a thing people say, sure- but _Jedi people_ say that. Or the General. To other people with an actual relationship with the Force, which Poe has never claimed to have. Maz fixes him with one of her customary, but uncomfortably clairvoyant looks. Like she knows what he’s thinking, and maybe he ought not to be so sure of the facts.

He pats the console of the _Squire_. “I think this rust bucket needs it more than I do.” Maz lays her tiny hand over his like a blessing, then takes her leave.

“All right, Bee. Lay in a course for the Bespin Swing by way of the 57th. Got that?”

While Poe straps in, BB-8 tweaks the relic of a flight plan the _Squire_ had on file, and clears them for take off. Poe knuckles into the con and just hopes he manages to make it into a hyperlane before anyone who outranks him notices he’s gone missing.

-

By the look of the numbers that flash by while they streak through hyperspace, Poe can tell that the _Squire_ hasn’t had a good jog around the neighborhood since the fall of the Empire, at least. All the number theory is based on a galactic decimal system that has since been abandoned by reputable astrophysicists in favor of a cross multiplied structure that was easier to communicate in shorthand. Not that this intimidates Poe- if anything it’s a nice refresher course. He’s of the opinion that an outdated craft can be a more effective tool under the hands of an inventive modern pilot than it ever would have been fresh off the factory line on auto-pilot. Only the shoddy workman blames his hydrospanner, as they say.

When the _Squire_ drops back into realspace, Poe appreciates the care Maz must have taken to smooth out the dual-drive converter. For such an old bird, it doesn’t whine at all. He had been expecting at least five telltales to flash at him in agony the moment he activated the sublight systems. Only two of the bulbs flicker for a moment before BB-8 calls them into correction.

Then the other, sixth light he’d been keeping an eye on blares to life. The long-range comms, and undoubtedly, General Organa, ready to light his hair on fire for ducking off of base and out of the system unauthorized.

“It was nice knowing you, Bee,” Poe calls back to his droid before tapping the channel open. “So- I can explain, _sort of,_ but I’ll just let you yell at me for a few minutes first.”

“Damn right you will, Commander,” says General Organa’s sharp voice. “I ought to have you hauled in by the S-foil and busted down to a major, but I don’t have the time to court martial you, and you know it. You owe me.”

“My first born, my droid, whatever you want,” Poe laughs nervously and BB-8 makes a little cry of objection. “Well, not my droid.”

The General does not laugh with him. “I can’t spare the resources to have you dragged back here, so you’re going to make the most of your little excursion and come back with _results_. Understand?”

“Before or after I do what I’m already doing?”

“ _Commander_.”

“Gotcha. Where am I going?” Poe hovers his hand over the navigational circuit, prepared to receive and analyze the telemetry. To his mixed relief, the readout displays coordinates in the Anoat Sector, which is where he 's already headed, but zeroes in on a planet in a system the next over from Bespin. “Hoth?”

“Threepio had a ping on Echo Base, and since it’s under consideration to be reinstated for the Resistance, we need to be certain it’s not an FO scout surveying the existing infrastructure,” explains General Organa.

Poe frowns. “Couldn’t it just be a scavenger? I hear plucky young scavengers live in broken down old AT-ATs these days.” He would hate to veer off course from finding Finn to chase some harmless snow urchin from their hideout.

“This ping required access to Rebel encryption codes that eliminate that benign possibility. It may seem like just a beacon, at the moment- but until it's verified as a ghost in the machine, it’s a threat,” General Organa says grimly. “And we have more than enough of those as it stands.”

Friend or foe, Poe knows there’s no easily dismissed reason for someone to be running around firing up beacons on Hoth with encryption codes older than he is. The ready-made hangars and existing equipment still on site at the abandoned Rebellion base makes it Resistance Command’s favorite for a new headquarters. The fate of their future there is in question, and these days, the prosperity of the Resistance goes hand in hand with the fate of the galaxy.

“All right General, I’ll take a look,” Poe says seriously.

“If you come in by Station 1-T-8 you should be able to find cold weather gear.” That advice is the closest the General is going to come to wishing him luck, Poe knows.

“And then after-”

“I _know_ you’re not about to tell your superior about premeditated mutinous plans you might have for after your mission on Hoth,” General Organa warns. “But- you have a week off the roster back on base. Nunb is chipping in to cover for you.”

Poe is very glad the General can’t see his face at the moment. “Thank you! I’ll get in touch with a report as soon as I have something worth saying.”

“You’d better,” she says, by way of a farewell. The transmission cuts out.

-

If it weren’t for the coordinates provided by General Organa, there would not have been much chance of Poe spotting Station T-1-8 by eye. Only one tiny corner of the man-made structure peeks out from a snowdrift. If it hasn’t collapsed, there ought to be a tunnel from the small surface station to the larger Echo Base proper. That’s if Poe can even get inside before he ices over. He watches the wind whip up the topmost layer of already fallen snow from the safety of the _Squire’s_ viewport. He’s only aware that the soft flurry of flakes is not actually falling from the sky because he just had the honor of descending from orbit through the cloudlayer full of torrential _hail_. So there was _that_ to survive as well, on top of entering a station door which he doesn’t have the codes or power supply to open. Poe sighs and rummages through the meager offerings of the drawers lining the cargo compartment of the _Squire_ , which is only about as wide and deep as he is tall. Luckily, Maz runs a good operation at the motorpool, so it doesn’t take long to find a jack and a kit he can use to bust his way through a lock or two. He shoves the tools into his pack, trading them for a spare pair of socks he can mitten his hands with, then fastens his jacket.

“This is gonna hurt,” Poe cringes. He does a few calisthenics to warm up before opening the hatch, and is immediately pelted by the frigid weather. “F-Fffffff!’ is all he manages to spit into the wind.

Poe steps out of the hatch, deceived, of course, by the depth of the snowbank he landed the ship on. He sinks in up to his thighs, and has to slog through the snow at a shuffle to make his way to BB-8’s station in the aft.

She gets one look at him, buried deeper than she is tall, and beeps in distaste.

“Yeah,” Poe chokes. “Not really interested in plowing your way. Stay with the ship. I have my communicator.”

BB-8 wishes him well, reminding him to have her turn on the environmental controls remotely before he comes back so she can have the ship nice and toasty for him upon his return. The thought bolsters Poe a bit. She’s a thoughtful little droid, worrying after him.

With one numb foot in front of the other, Poe crosses the distance to where he can only hope there will be an entrance, and uses his body to knock away as much snow as he can to see what he’s doing. Once he locates the access panel and door, he makes quick work of it with the tools in his pack, shorting the lock and hurrying in so he can shut the door against the wind.

Inside, the station is a lot like the tertiary posts of the New Republic bases Poe used to work at, years ago. Echo Base is the parent of most New Republic facilities, he supposes, and his own father had been here as infantry at some point- so it would be easy to feel a little nostalgic if Poe weren’t so busy feeling _freezing_. He surveys the station for assets.

At the back of the bunker the darkened entrance to the tunnels below yawns ominously, which certainly doesn’t help Poe’s shivering problem- but next to a completely picked-over armory rack there’s a bank of lockers. He opens one after another, gratefully gathering the clothing left behind by fleeing rebels three decades prior. Luckily, Poe is pretty slim, so he has no difficulty wrestling a random pair of trousers over the snow-wet ones he’s already wearing, and has his pick of several thermal pullovers and two hooded, fur-lined coats. Once he’s properly bundled in decent gear, Poe plunges his hands into the pockets of his new coat, hoping for gloves. With his still-socked hands he scoops out a mismatched pair of left handed mittens and a jar of balm.

“Bless you, Two-Left-Hands-Rebel-of-the-Past,” Poe mutters, slathering some of the balm on his already cold-chapped cheeks and mouth. He tosses the jar and a few more odds and ends he discovers into his pack and ignites a lasertorch to light his way through the tunnel.

“BB-8 would not appreciate this,” he muses to himself, surrounded by cramped darkness.

The passageway to the main base is more or less intact. Poe only has to grab a piece of debris to shovel out a hole for himself twice, and about a half a kilometer later, he finds himself at a door. Unlike the first lock he had encountered on Hoth, which was probably loosened up for him by scavengers of yesteryear- this one Poe has to _really_ apply himself to. Even with mittens, or maybe because of the mittens, he worries his numbed hands won’t be able to carefully disconnect the security circuit without tripping some further, more finite lockdown.

    He reminds himself that he _has_ to get this door open, so that he can sweep the base, so he can make his report, so he can _go find Finn_. Thinking about his task like Finn is on the other side with a cup of caf and approximately twelve blankets steels Poe’s resolve.

After a long, cold smoke exhale, he tries one more time and finally gets the door to slide open.

“Bee, I’ve made it into the hangar,” Poe reports on his comm. BB-8 trills back her delight at his continued survival and urges him to hurry up.

The hangar at Echo Base is impressively cavernous. It’s high enough to accommodate even the biggest Resistance operated craft, even if it were double stacked with an X-wing on top. It’s not hard to see why the General is interested in reclaiming the territory, if it checks out. He snaps a few pictures with the holoimager in his communicator so that she can get an idea of the damage caused by thirty years of neglect.

Mostly, it looks like someone left the door open when the Empire attacked and the Rebels were forced to break camp. Though the giant blast door has since fallen shut, a large berm of snow mounds in the middle of the space, cutting it in half. Poe’s ears are still ringing from the howling wind he encountered earlier, so he’s only _just_ aware that there is...something. Something is stirring the snow blanketed silence on the the other side of the hangar.

All of Poe’s senses sharpen in his sudden alert state. It’s really something else to be reasonably sure he’s the only sentient being on a planet at one moment, and then certain he has company, the next.

Poe clips the lasertorch onto his blaster and raises it cautiously so he can make an approach. Now that he’s focusing on the sound, every crunch of his boots over the snow and every breath he draws is deafening. The sound across the hangar grumbles on, unaware of him. Opting for the advantage that some height will give him, Poe chooses to trudge up the slope of snow so he can peer down on whatever, _whoever_ is on the other side. He ascends the summit in a tense crouch, peering over a crag of fallen ice from the ceiling, then instantly relaxes.

A small pack of tauntauns are huddled amidst some metallic debris at the foot of the bank, taking shelter from the storm. There must be a fairly sizeable way to the outdoors open elsewhere on the base, which rankles Poe a bit. If a tauntaun could fit through whatever hole there was, he could practically have flown the _Squire_ in and completely missed out on mucking through the snow and hail.

Below, the four beasts have not caught on to Poe’s presence yet, and are content to feast on whatever it is that they have foraged. He can’t imagine what there might be to eat on a desolate ice ball like this, but Poe isn’t offended by their disregard so long as it isn’t him. They look gentle enough, at least, though they probably haven’t had a lot of human contact since the camp broke a generation ago.

“You’re probably Rebellion army brats too, aren’t you?” Poe realizes.

At the sound of his voice, two of the larger tauntauns rear their heads in alarm, letting loose a guttural cry as they flail, and in doing so- disrupting and dislodging the debris they were nesting in at the bottom of Poe’s mound of snow. He loses his footing as the ground beneath him gives way. Head over heels, Poe tumbles in the slide of snow and ice, toward the increasingly alarmed tauntauns that continue to knock about the old broken shells of Imperial and Rebellion crafts alike. Poe’s hood rips off while padding him from the full brunt of some wreckage, and the tauntauns scamper off, damage done.

Once everything stops moving, Poe finds himself pinned between a slab of ice and a fractured A-wing hull. His head aches from impact, but his communicator is long gone and he’s the only one he has to count on, so he can’t let himself down. Poe struggles against the crush of frozen weight, trying to at least position his arms usefully. With a groan of twisting metal, something shifts loose above him- and for a split second Poe thinks he’s free. Then a spasm of pain shoots through his battered body, breaking his grip, and suddenly the A-wing hull slips further and settles its weight on his chest.

Poe sees stars. Each breath gets harder and harder to draw into his lungs. The lack of oxygen burns him from the inside out, and cold infiltrates him to the core. Gathering what feels like every last molecule of air he has, Poe tries to shout, but all that comes out is a voiceless wheeze. With each following gasp, he becomes dizzier and thinks of another friend he has let down.

_The General has no idea what’s happened to him._

He gasps.

_BB-8, waiting for him to return._

He gasps again, just a sip of air.

 _Finn, who will never know._  


-  


He’s not dead. Not yet.

Poe stirs because he hears something, half way. Half of his panging head is lodged in the snow, that’s it...  And it's so cold. Snot frozen in your nose, eyelashes glued together  _cold_. He ought to be shivering, but he’s not. That’s not good.

His eyes pry open, vision blurring around the edges. A blurry shape moves close by, too coordinated to be a tauntaun. Not as foul smelling, either. Poe is too lightheaded to come up with a theory, he might even pass out again for a moment. Then there’s an alarming, inhuman screech. The metal Poe couldn’t even budge wrenches all around him, and... breathing gets a little easier.

More metal. Grunting, too. It could be a wampa trying to dig out a tasty meal, Poe thinks. He'd deserve it if it were.

Fuzzy as his vision is, he isn’t entirely decided, _wampa or human_ , until a hood and goggles are peering down at him instead of fangs and horns. Then hands, not claws, are pushing their way into his neck, feeling for a pulse. Satisfied by the result, the figure pulls him clear from the debris, but by then, the renewed rush of oxygen has made Poe heady and he slips out of consciousness again.

The next time he comes around, Poe is lying on his side on the floor of the _Squire’s_ cargo hold with his hands bound to his chest. Either BB-8 has been incapacitated, or she hasn’t had enough time to get the ship warm for he and his captor, and Poe shivers. As he shakes, Poe’s dazed head rolls enough to notice a cluster of yellowy holoflames in the corner. He must not have noticed that Maz loaded his things onboard before he left, just in case he found Finn. _Well_ , he hopes whatever First Order goon has captured him has enough culture to appreciate a nice bottle of wine. Probably a scout hoping to ambush a Resistance member for intelligence or ransom.

Either way.

“S-save yourself some time. K-kill me now,” Poe chatters through his teeth. “I don’t talk.”

“That’s right,” says a voice close behind him. Very close. “Just shuttup.”

He hasn’t been tied up at all, Poe realizes from the proximity of the voice. He tucks his chin to look down at himself, and there are bare arms wrapped around him, holding he and his limbs still as he shakes violently from his case of exposure. Bandages are scattered on his bumps and bruises, and there is the sting of a recent hypospray at his neck- first aid to enemies is not typical First Order protocol, Poe knows from experience. And his pack, presumably still full of tools he could use for an escape is nestled by his feet with his boots in a pool of melted snow, too. The jacket he had found in the lockers is laid over his legs and his pullover and shirt have been stripped, and are now hanging from the corners of the cargo bay drawers. And the arms- the bare arms connected to the bare chest at his back are strong and edged in a soft purple glow.

Poe flops helplessly, still shivering, trying to twist around for a better look but thwarted by his tremorous body. Finn gently rolls Poe onto his back and crowds their chests together, blanketing Poe with his own heat.

“H-how?” Poe mumbles, relieved and miserable in equal parts.

Finn uses his hands to rub some warmth into Poe’s arms, considering his answer with a thinly drawn mouth. Still upset, then.“Hitched a lift off of Rik with a smuggler, but... I ticked off the Gamorrean first mate and got podded at the nearest system,” he says, tightly.

“B-beacon was you?” The sheer amount of trouble Finn could stir up in just a standard-day’s time...

“I found half a protocol droid left behind from the Battle of Hoth. But he didn’t believe I was with the Rebellion,” Finn huffs and rolls his eyes, still rubbing Poe’s arms, chest, and neck. “When I threatened him with being a quarter of a protocol droid he said he’d send a distress signal to his ‘commander’ and _then I’d be sorry_ ,” Finn smirks.

Poe snorts. “Smart.” He flushes with pride, the rippling warmth of it reaching all the way to his stinging toes and fingertips. His teeth stop chattering, and Poe simply focuses on being very still, very close to Finn. Safe. Finn is smart and warm and will keep him safe if he falls asleep again.

“Well, considering the Rebellion’s body count and the fact that it’s been thirty years since the Battle of Hoth, I wasn’t holding out a lot of hope that ol’ Halfie’s commander was still alive.”

A fair enough bet on Finn’s part, but with too rigid a definition of ‘ _alive’_. “He meant Threepio,” Poe informs him, yawning.

Finn cups Poe’s face like he could stop him from yawning again. “Don’t do that, buddy. You’ll stay warmer if you stay awake.”

With a weak smile, Poe nods. “Still smart.”

“Glad it was you and not Threepio who came to check it out, though. I don’t think he’d be as-” Finn cuts off, frowning at himself and purposely withholding any pleasant observations he has on the situation until they clear the air about why he should even have come to be stranded on Hoth in the first place.

“No, no,” Poe says, and he cups Finn’s face this time, trying to keep him from frowning. “Finn, I didn’t mean to tell you to leave the base, just the medbay- I’m sorry.”

Finn peers down at him, bottom lip trembling with something more. What else had Poe done to hurt him?

“I figured that out, but then it got me thinking- you never asked me to stay either. I thought it might be better if I took off. Because I wasn’t... I wasn’t right about _this_ ,” he says, gesturing back and forth between himself and Poe, his motion chased by a soft blur of purple light.

“You _were_ right,” Poe breathes, then he reaches to pull Finn’s face close, locking him with a sincere, imploring gaze. For so long back on base, Finn had been so vulnerable and in pain. The last thing Poe had wanted was to give the impression that the care Finn received was contingent on his utility to the Resistance or the reciprocation of personal feelings. “I was afraid to ask you to stay for my sake. I didn’t want to corner you, because you don’t owe the Resistance anything. You don’t owe _me_ anything.”

With his forehead nudged into Poe’s, Finn closes his eyes with an exasperated exhale. “I know I don't. That’s why it hurt. I was ready to offer you anything at all, but you never asked.”

“Finn, stay,” Poe asks now.

He waits for Finn to answer, his heart still shivering inside his chest. Finn pulls away for a moment and sits back to look at him, letting their blanket of jackets slide, and stopping Poe’s breath as the chill rolls in. Then Finn breaks out in a wild eyed smile and closes the distance between them and seals it shut with a kiss. It makes Poe’s still cold-tinged lips sting, matched against the heat of Finn, kissing him deeply.

“Not for your _cause_?” Finn asks, between the press of more kisses “-as Good and Right as it is...”

“No,” Poe shakes his head, but doesn’t stop chasing after Finn’s hot mouth on his for a moment.

He can feel Finn smiling against him as he asks- “Just for _you,_ then?”

“Yes.” Poe feels unexpectedly articulate, able to say the actual word instead of just moaning a general sound of positive response. When Finn kisses him again he digs his fingers into Poe’s hair and pulls lightly, leading them to roll side by side.

For the first time, Poe’s hands roam Finn’s body for the purpose of pleasure, not comfort. He doesn’t hurry past the places he had been afraid to linger before. As they kiss, Poe’s fingers trace over the hard muscle and into the dips between them, mapping each peak and contour as faithfully as he knows the layout of his own ship’s console. Beneath his chill touch, Finn shivers even though the environmental controls have finally come online. Poe makes his way from the sharp edge of Finn’s collarbone to the coarse hair that trails down from his navel, then back up again before he decides his hands are not enough.

Poe pushes Finn onto his back with a growl and kneels over him. The hard floor of the cargo hold makes Poe’s bruised knees twinge a bit, but it’s worth it for the expression on Finn’s face. It’s fierce and focused only on him. Poe mouths his way down the column of Finn’s neck and earns a little whimper for the well executed maneuver.

“Been dying to climb on top of me, huh?” Finn pants, as Poe makes no secret of his intentions. He laps his tongue into the notch at the base of Finn’s throat and grinds their hips together. “Finally,” he sighs.

“Didn’t seem like good timing, before,” Poe mumbles against his skin. “You _were_ paralyzed before they activated your implants, remember?” He runs his hand along Finn’s arm, tracing the rows of biomech lights, and Finn overcomes his initial hesitation to grip Poe by the waist.

“True,” says Finn. Poe grinds into him again, and to make up for lost opportunities Finn drifts lower, getting a handful of Poe’s rear. “It made me crazy when I couldn’t reach out and touch you,” he admits.

Pausing his attempt to smear his mouth over every inch of Finn, Poe sits back a moment. “Really?”

Finn looks up at him so sweetly and strokes his hands up Poe’s sides, careful to avoid the bruises that are blooming from the accident. “Really. When you told me about your friends who had died at Starkiller- all I wanted was to hold your hand.”

“Oh, Finn.” Poe crumples over him, tucking his face into his neck, and Finn’s arms draw up to enfold him. “I don’t know how you ended up being you, when you could have just as easily never been you at all- but I’m so glad you did.”

“Uhm, same?!” Finn laughs. Being pulled up close against the rumble of it makes Poe tingle pleasantly. “Wanted to get my hands in this too,” Finn continues, combing his fingers into Poe’s hair again- and the tingle in Poe’s body turns electric.

Poe groans. “Keep ‘em there, buddy." It is _unfair_ how quickly Finn is finding his buttons- he'll have to go looking for some of Finn's. He kisses him again, teasing his lip with a bite, and then smirks. Depending on the social mores of stormtroopers, he is about to blow this one’s mind. Finn obediently tangles into Poe’s curls, squinting a little while Poe shimmies back on his knees and hooks into Finn’s briefs, giving them a little tug. “May I?”

“Please.”

Poe shoves them down letting Finn’s cock spring free, flushed dark and already half hard. He wraps his hand around the shaft, giving it a few upward strokes and checking with Finn. “You want this?”

“Yeah,” Finn pants, tightening his grip and staring at Poe, transfixed.

Poe lowers his mouth close enough to feel the velvety heat of it on his lips. Lets his breath ghost over it like a caress. “You want more?”

“Hell yeah, c’mon P- Ohhh,” his voice cracks.

The taste of Finn fills his senses, and Poe works his way down, taking as much of him into his mouth as he can. He runs his tongue along all the edges and impressive hardness of his cock like he had on Finn’s chest, and feels his own throb in interest. Poe swallows around Finn, feeling him plump up in his mouth and begin to leak.

He moves up and down and Finn’s hands follow, curled at the back of his head, gripping and slacking in a readout of his enthusiastic response. Poe can’t help but rub his own erection through his briefs in sync, thrilled by all the little signs of Finn’s enjoyment. Now that Finn’s done with the pain of rebuilding his body from the inside out, Poe wants for him to have every good feeling, ever. That he can make it happen is more honor than a space scoundrel like Poe deserves.

“Ohhhkay. You’re right. This is better when I have a nervous system, _for sure_.”

With a hum of a laugh, Poe pops off and wipes his mouth. Finn doesn’t complain that he stopped, he just looks at Poe like he hung the stars and twirls a finger into a curl by Poe’s ear, tickling his neck. “It does have its benefits,” Poe agrees, biting his lip. He doesn’t want to rush things, but he isn’t sure how long he can hold off either, with Finn being so positively gorgeous. “Want me to open you up while I suck you?”

Finn tilts his head at the fraction of an angle that usually means he would appreciate a less colloquial explanation, so Poe holds up and twitches two fingers.

“Oh! So we can- yes _definitely_ ,” Finn says, suddenly drawing up his knees and unseating Poe so he can shove off his briefs as quickly as possible.

Poe takes the opportunity to search through his pack in the corner for that jar of balm from before. When he finds it, he smacks a little on his lips for good measure and leans over to give Finn a quick, slightly sloppy kiss to share it.

“Mmm, thanks buddy.” Finn pats his smiling lips. He’d also been caught unprepared on a bitterly cold world, after all. He folds his elbows on his knees and watches Poe slip out of his own briefs and rearrange the jackets for a bit of bedding.

“Did you ever do this before?” It occurs to Poe he ought to check for certain, so he can take the best possible care of Finn.

Finn snorts. “Pfft, no! It’s against the rules! _Other people_ did, but I’ll have you know I was a model stormtrooper until you turned up.”

Poe grins back at him. “That was a coincidence.”

“A really good one,” says Finn. He lays down again and makes himself comfortable, inviting Poe back into his arms.

“Yeah.” Poe’s heart swells, and he crawls over Finn to kiss him again before he resumes his spot kneeled between Finn’s legs. “Well, the only rule here is to speak up about what you want, all right?” Finn nods and Poe continues his mission.

He mouths at the head of Finn’s cock, chasing the steady leak of fluid with his tongue, savoring the tang of it. With a balm-slicked finger, he circles Finn’s hole and presses in, sinking deep in unison with the rhythmic drag of his lips, up and down, in and out. Finn certainly appreciates it, by the sound of him.

“ _You_ have definitely done this before,” he observes breathlessly.

That was true- though if anything, it was mostly to himself, lately. Poe had paraded his way through more than his fair share of beds as a hot young thing in the New Republic, but he had cut out that kind of crap when he was given command of a squadron in the Resistance.

Writhing beneath him, Finn asks for more, so Poe adds a second finger and twists, reaching up to hit that spot that will really make him sing. “S-stars,” Finn swears. He grips into Poe’s hair again, struggling not to buck his hips too hard. He whimpers while Poe carefully teases the sensation out of him, making them both sweat. The damp sheen on both their skins is splashed with ambient light of holoflame yellow and biomech purple.

Poe edges his mouth off, breathing heavy and petting Finn’s belly, still pumping his fingers inside of him. “You’re doing so good, buddy. You wanna come like this? Should make it easier for you to take me later- you’ll be so nice and relaxed.”

Finn bucks again, and Poe’s lucky his nose wasn’t in the line of fire, that time. “Keep talking like that, don’t think I’m gonna have a ch-choice,” Finn yelps.

Kissing the inside of Finn’s thigh, Poe adds another finger and gets Finn acclimated to it before taking him in his mouth again. Finn shudders the whole time, knees knocking into Poe’s shoulders, but he doesn’t mind. Half of the holoflames topple over when Finn flails out his arms to grip the floor in his ravishment. They’re very lucky they aren’t actual, open flames- the harmless lights just roll away, casting new stripes of shadow across their bodies. Poe ignores the upset and just listens to Finn’s steady stream of murmurs, some of which he suspects are swears in languages he’s never heard of, but mostly _Yes, Please,_ and _Poe_. It doesn’t take long before Poe can feel the quickened, jerking pulse in his cock as Finn nears orgasm. Despite attempts to warn him off, Poe is experienced enough to know what he likes and he stays put until Finn comes, swallowing him and relishing the hot spurt down his throat. When he’s caught the last of it, Poe backs off, letting Finn gather himself for a moment.

“I _really_ really liked that,” Finn puffs. “Really liked that it was _you_ , too.”

“I can tell,” Poe grins. He crawls up beside Finn, mopping sweat off his forehead and shoving his hair out of his eyes. Finn bats some holoflames out of his way before he crashes down, back flat on the floor. Even if Poe is getting a little old for hooking up in the back of two-seaters, Finn deserves a go at that whole sloppy, impractical, _wonderful_ right of passage. He can’t complain. Besides, Poe did plan to take Finn out to a gutted TIE fighter for a date, and that wouldn’t have been any easier on his knees. Finn seems content with the experience, of course, sighing happily and snaking an arm over Poe to keep him cuddled close while they unwind.

With tender hands, Finn starts petting him slowly, taking his own turn to run his fingers into every corner of Poe’s chest and neck, then moves to follow the path of his hands with featherlight kisses. “So damn nice,” Finn comments, then he nudges his way up Poe’s throat to kiss him properly. As they do, Poe can tell he’s searching for his own taste on his tongue. Finn drags himself on top of Poe from head to toe and connects their hips meaningfully. “You gonna make good on all your smooth talk? I’m feeling pretty relaxed.” Finn raises an eyebrow.

“If you want to, yeah.” Poe reaches out for that jar of balm again, but Finn sits up and swipes it first.

“Allow me,” Finn insists, drawing himself up so that he’s facing Poe, knelt on either side of him. He scoops some balm into his hands and shifts far enough back so that he can slick Poe up himself.

Laying back in the furry puddle of jackets, Poe lets Finn take this at his own pace. “Perfect,” he tells him, watching the dedicated way Finn strokes up and down his cock. It’s hard to the point of aching and leaking copiously- it won’t take all that much, Poe knows. He could probably just watch Finn breathe raggedly, damp with the sweat he just wrung out of him and come in a standard-minute.

Poe slams his eyes shut to cut down on the stimulating visual, expelling a calming breath.

“You good?” Finn asks. Poe feels him bend to press a soft kiss at the center of his chest.

     “Almost too good.” Poe winces, but he’s glad he opened his eyes again to get a look at Finn. “I can hardly believe you’re real.”

     Finn is radiant, like he might have consumed a sun. Poe runs his hands up Finn’s thighs and waist and chest, half surprised that his flesh doesn’t give off an astronomical amount of heat to match his confident glow. Poe is going to have to be on his best behavior _for life_ to make up for the extraordinary luck of ever finding this singularity of a man.

Finn estimates where he ought to kneel, shuffling forward a bit so Poe can position himself. He reaches between Finn’s legs, finding his still slick hole and dipping in indulgently before he guides his cock to it. Finn twitches on his fingers, hot and inviting. “Come on, Poe,” he breathes. “I want you.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Poe nudges the head of his cock at that hot entrance and Finn begins push down around him with a moan. They pause, just inside the rim, and Poe waits for Finn to get comfortable enough to continue. “Just take it easy, buddy. You feel _fantastic_.”

Finn’s legs tremble as he lowers himself, pulling their bodies together in starbright heat. He lands his hands on top of Poe’s, gripped at his hips. Together, their hands travel up Finn’s torso as slowly as he sinks down on to Poe’s cock. Beneath his palms, Poe can feel the flexing expanse of Finn’s breathing, the sharp inhale as he bottoms out.

“Damn,” says Finn. He pulls one of Poe’s hands to his mouth to kiss it, then clutches it over his chest. “Feels like you’re all the way inside. Up here.” He splays Poe’s fingers very purposefully over his heart. His chest rises and falls as he stares down at Poe, his bright eyes full of emotion.

It’s more than Poe had dared to ask, to be in Finn’s heart. All he wanted was for Finn to stay- be close enough that he might enamour himself to him over time. The possibility that he’s already reached his destination never would have occurred to him before now. It makes his throat catch. “I wanna be,” he chokes. “You’re in mine, too.”

With a soft, hopeful smile, Finn bends down close to kiss him and Poe cranes up as best he can to meet him halfway. Finn nips at him with urgent, smudged kisses, beginning to move his hips again. Poe leans back on his elbows so that maybe he _never_ has to stop kissing Finn. They stay connected at the mouth, messy and feverish as they push their bodies together. When Finn is too overcome by the filling sensation and loses track of of their mouths, Poe plunders him with his tongue. They share breath as they kiss, sustaining themselves on each other's sighs.

“So much- want you _so much_.” Finn drives himself down on Poe, hard. It knocks the air out of his already straining lungs. With a groan, Poe thrusts up into him, heat drenching him from the pit of his stomach and waving out to all his extremities. “Want you to come, too,” Finn rasps in his ear. “Want you to feel good.”

He does, _he does_ , but Poe can’t even get the words out- he’s so enthralled with the frenzied, perfect presence of Finn, taking him for the ride of his life. His heart thuds against his rib cage like a meteor impact, and for a moment, Poe worries that he’s going to stop feeling things all together. “Gonna p-pass out,” he stammers, dropping off his elbows, flat on his back.

Finn crashes his forehead into Poe’s, never breaking their pace. He reaches out to hold both of Poe’s hands on either side of his head. “That’s not the deal. I stay with you, you gotta stay with me _,_ buddy.”

“ _Gonna_ ,” is all Poe can promise. His hips stutter as he starts to seize up, nearly there. Finn picks up the slack, slamming them together, two, three mores times until Poe’s done for. He squeezes Finn’s hands back, coming with a sob.

Finn rides it out, enjoying himself and not letting go until Poe finishes emptying into him with one last quiver of his overwhelmed body. He moves and slips off to the side when he can tell it's too much for Poe, laying with just their chests draped together. “Oh, Poe,” Finn whispers, reverently.

Breathless, Poe strains to focus. When Finn says his name like that, like someone in love- he can’t miss it. He soaks up the sight of Finn, collapsed on top of him, chin resting on his heaving chest, hands folded over Poe’s heart. Poe reaches out his closest arm to stroke down the length of Finn’s naked back, all the way to the three little spots of light at the base of his spine, glowing merrily.

“Really glad you didn’t try to ransom me to the Resistance, after all,” Poe grins. He rubs lazy, soothing circles into Finn’s back just as he has many times before.

“ _That’s_ all you have to say for yourself? I still might.” Finn narrows his eyes.

Poe grins and runs his hand up Finn’s neck and scratches at the back of his head until his eyes drop closed, content. “Finn, you’re the most spectacular person I have ever met- and I’ve met the General- _but_... I am curious what I’m worth, I admit it.”

“We’ll never know,” Finn says airly. “Because my spectacular self is just gonna keep rescuing your sorry behind before we get a chance to find out.”

“Mmm. My sorry behind and I thank you.”

Finn shivers now that they’re cooling down from their various exploits, so Poe tugs one of the jackets free from under them and drapes it over Finn.

“Ugh. I suppose we should get dressed.” Finn huddles up underneath the jacket, pulling as much of himself inside as possible and curling close to Poe’s side.

“Ready to go home?” Poe pats his back and sits up so he can locate the rest of his clothes.

Finn wrinkles his nose. “Can’t we just stay here?”

Poe finds his trousers and gets up off the cargo hold floor so he can dress. “I don’t know about you, but I was just fantasizing about a real ‘fresher-”

“Decadent rebel nonsense.”

“-And the _actual_ bed in my quarters.”

Throwing off the jacket, Finn springs up from the floor. “Good selling point,” he says, crowding Poe against the wall of the hold before he can finish fastening his fly.

Slipping his arms around Finn’s waist, Poe lets Finn bracket him in. “So. Home? The both of us back on base... together?”

Finn kisses him soundly, then pulls back. “So you want me to-- ?”

“Stay,” Poe grins.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [art by me! stitchyarts on tumblr ](http://stitchyarts.tumblr.com/tagged/star%20wars)   
> 


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